Late Blossoms
by The Jolliest Roger
Summary: Enchanted Forest AU. Emma, a thief escaped from Her Majesty's dungeon, strikes a deal with one notorious Captain Hook to find something they both need. Unfortunately, a crew playing matchmaker, adventures and fitting personalities weren't taken into account. Are late blossoms really the most beautiful? Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. Of shirts and pirates and home

I originally posted this story on Tumblr, but now that is taking a more elaborate form I decided to post here. I work without a beta, and I deeply appreciate suggestions, constructive criticism and people pointing out typos or grammar mistakes.

And yes, I took the title from Mulan. Couldn't resist (◡‿◡✿)

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><p><em>Perhaps <em>she should have thought this through a bit more.

Accepting the offer for an alliance from a pirate captain and getting on his ship for a journey of unknown length was one thing. Jumping on said ship with only the clothes on her back was another thing entirely, one she's almost starting to regret now.

She is tying her belt over the black shirt she's been given - the _Captain's_ shirt she has been borrowing ever since she received a nasty gash on her flank while boarding a Navy ship. (her torn and bloodied tunic is probably still in his cabin) (if she hadn't already trusted him, the way he took care of her wound without commenting on the scar on her back marking her as the Queen's property would have probably done her in)

Back to the problem at hand, his shirt is too big on her, and warm as it may be, it doesn't do much in the way of keeping her covered. Not when she's on a ship in the middle of the ocean and determined to pull her weight climbing up and down the riggings. It doesn't do much for the trembling inside her chest whenever she pulls it over her head either (this _intimacy_ that comes with wearing a man's clothes, it's _new_and untainted with memories of another time and another man, memories of betrayal and chains around her wrists as she lost everything), and its softness and faint smell of him aren't helping the case (it would be easier if his crew had made lewd remarks when they first saw her in it, if they didn't look at her as if she means more than business to their captain. As if she will _stay _with them)

And his eyes shouldn't be so bright and open when she joins him at the helm with a bread roll because the cook said he hadn't had breakfast with them _either _(Emma should have punched him or something for the very exaggerated emphasis and very obvious meaning behind his words, but then again, the cook is the same one that prepared her an infusion when she got seasick on her first days on board) (the Emma they met at port would have rewarded him with a kick to the shin) (they _have_ to stop making her wish to stay)

Also, their deal didn't include her having rum with them at night, being taught their sea shanties, learning the names to every star she sees on the clear nights on deck (learning later that old Stark made up many on the spot just to satisfy her curiosity)

And yet, she is the one to tug him from his place at the helm when he is practically swaying from exhaustion but too goddamn stubborn to retire for the day, his night shifts somehow managing to last the entire night instead of the few hours everyone else's do (she will guide him to his cabin and tug his coat and boots off and he will collapse on the bed and snore softly almost immediately, the obstinate idiot)

And when the tables finally turn and it is her cleaning the gunshot on his shoulder, when she convinces him to take off the brace on his left arm with a soft touch and a meaningful look (_trust me_), when she grazes his scarred wrist with the back of her knuckles and gets him to lie on the bed with his head on her lap while she combs her fingers through his hair until he dozes off, well, she'll admit to have planned a new course to get another rare artifact.

(_just a few more months)_ (she isn't ready to give this up just yet)

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><p>AN: Chapters keep gettting longer (I have three written already) so updates probably won't be all that regular, but I hope you enjoy the story all the same.


	2. A scarf and a glass of rum

It's a sunny and clear day when they make port again. The firm cobblestones feel somewhat strange under her feet, but she has spent many years running and sleeping on them, so the sensation doesn't last for long. Besides, the town is covered in shades of auburn and gold, flags and banderoles hanging from ropes tended from window to window, and the not so distant sound of a string and wind band announces the presence of a local fair. Killian laughs delighted at the child-like excitement on her face (how did it even get there, she has no idea) and hands her a little leather pouch half-filled with silver coins (_"Your share of the treasure love"_), ignoring her protests that she is not part of his crew (she _isn't_) before steering her in the direction of the festival.

Her objections dissolve on her tongue as they approach the first stalls. It's actually been long since she last could stroll leisurely through a market (street rats don't really make for good customers in the eyes of the merchants, and she more often than not got to see their broomsticks instead of their goods) so she lets herself listen to his persuasive words (_"C'mon love, I know you'd prefer to explore than pickpocket your way through the crowd")_

(She would)

(The clinking of the pouch tied to her belt makes her feel good, and she thinks he might understand)

So she approaches a stand filled with different kinds of cheese and when the woman on the other side of the table offers her a slice with a smile she reciprocates and takes it before moving on to the next, and the next, and the next. Slowly but surely, she has a look at what each and every stall has to offer, from books (she flips through one about a girl and a rabbit, until she comes across a mad queen and her soulless soldiers and she puts it down. When she turns around Killian is there, handing her a little atlas he has just purchased) (his hook nudges her hip as they turn to the next stand and she forgets the book and the memories it stirs) to the much needed clothing (her new blouses are as soft as Killian's, but she has the feeling she will miss the black fabric anyway)

When they encounter a merchant selling scarves she insists on buying him one to replace the piece he used to clean her wound (_"Winter is coming and you spend half your nights on deck"_).

They end up buying two. (_"Well lass, then _you _could use one too"_)

(She won't ever acknowledge the knowing giggle of the merchant's wife)

Smee finds them while they are observing the work of a rather talented tattoo artist. As the man finishes the order (the skull and bones are really over-used, but apparently sailors believe they will protect them, or so Killian tells her) the first mate informs his captain that supplies are being delivered to the Jolly, and that the crewmen have already made themselves at home at the local tavern. They leave to join them at Rosewater's inn (_"forty years in the business" _claims the old lady at the reception desk with a proud grin. She gives Killian and her adjoining rooms without anyone telling her, so perhaps there's a reason they are successful) (not that Emma can't defend herself perfectly, but as Killian told her as he showed her her individual room on the ship, he rather fears for anyone fool enough to try and sneak on her) (as if the crew would try anything like that, hasn't he noticed that their strangely good behavior makes up half her dilemma?).

Everyone is having dinner by the time they arrange rooms for all them and she ends sat between the captain and the wall with Smee in front of them recounting some of their most impressive adventures. She laughs as she drinks her ale and perhaps she leans more fully against Killian's side as the nights wears on, and perhaps his hand lands on her thigh when he is making a point - he makes many when he is rum-inspired and as merry as now - but well, her hands land on his leg too when she burst out laughing, and the pirate rum has make her a happy drunk instead of the broody sort she used to be, so there's that.

For the first time there's a bed under her on her first night in a foreign town, and she can't bring herself to regret the almost-impossible hunt for a magical compass that has brought her here.


	3. The maps and the stories

The Jolly is surrounded by a thick mist that blends in perfectly with her mood. She has been fuming all morning, her back to the foremast and her legs firmly clasped to her chest, with her arms around her knees forming a last barrier between her and the world. (it used to be like this every day she spent in the dungeons) (she hadn't thought she'd need this weak attempt at protection since she came aboard, the beautifully colored wood planks on the flanks of the ship making up some sort of impenetrable fortress)

And she feels stupid.

Goddamnit, she is literally _caged_ here. (he should know better than that) (she _thought _ he knew better than that) (god, she's so stupid)

They decided to change their course to approach this port last time they were on land, a retired historian that could make their task easier with his knowledge on the fate of lost royal treasures said to have fixed his residence here. And now Killian won't _let_ her get off the ship. In fact, he's already left with three of his men - Smee and two burly sailors with his big cutlass and non-existent glib who are _clearly_ of more use than her when talking to an educated ex-courtesan - right after mooring the Jolly a good and un-swimmable distance from port and taken the only boat with them.

And she might be quiet now, but as soon as he comes back she's giving him a (very angry) piece of her mind and then she's going to call off this arrangement and leave. He doesn't have any power over her, and she won't be kept here by force. (She will jump overboard if necessary, same way she fought the Dark Knights back in the day. She is _free_, goddamnit, and he is not taking that from her)

The crewmen are wise enough not to come near her. At least not until lunchtime comes and goes and she stays in her chosen spot to seethe. Then Stark (they know she has a soft spot for him since the night of stargazing, clever guys) ventures into her self-proclaimed domain with a bowl of stew in his hand (her favourite one at that. She's going to _throttle_Cook) and sits beside her without a word, and no amount of silent treatment will make him get the hint that she doesn't want the company.

The skies are starting to tinge with pink and orange as the sun comes down by the time he opens his mouth - _"It's been years since I had seen this bay, ye ken lass?" - _and engages her in a conversation (more of a monologue, for all that she contributes to it) about joining a Navy-turned-pirate crew down at the Southern Islands, about sailing with them for half a year before docking in this same town, about a warrant for treason on the Captain's head and a squad of soldiers under King George's orders cutting off his hand before his execution - execution thwarted by his crew (_"but not bloody soon enough, lass. We weren't fast_ _enough"_) before they fled to the high seas and patched him up.

-/-

Stark's words still ring in her head when Killian and the others return - well into the night - and he finds her in his room, sitting at the desk with the atlas he bought open in front of her. He sighs and takes off his coat before facing her with his arms cross over his chest in a protective manner. (It makes a weight bear down on her breastbone, seeing him shielding himself the same way she has spent good part of the day doing). She nears him slowly, reaching for the brace on his left arm, unbuckling the straps and taking it off with the silver hook still attached to it.

Taking a page from Stark's book, she addresses the elephant in the room casually.

"Did you find him?"

"Aye. Gave us a few notes. You can look at them if you wish to"

She hums noncommittally and trails her fingertips over the scarred lines he's had for a little over three years, wondering if he has screamed too much or spoken too little in the last hours to have his voice as rough and low as it is now.

"I could have gone and heard from the man himself too"

"I know. Couldn't risk it though, love." He doesn't elaborate, but she won't let it go like that. If she really is to stay, she needs to understand (she owes it to herself, not to be fooled again by a tragic story and one "I know best")

"I hadn't pegged you for the kind of man to mutiny against his country, Captain. Neither for one to believe he owns me" He shakes his head fractionally, one corner of his mouth coming up for a second in a poor resemblance of his usual mirth.

"Been tattling with the crew, have you?" Levity leaves him as his shoulders hunch forward "I know I can't own you love. No one ever could" (her fingers clench a bit tighter on his forearm - she remembers one person who definitely tried) "But I'll be damned if that bloody disgrace of a king gets his hands on you" his hand rises to gripe hers in his vehemence "and I would do it all again a thousand times over if it kept you from ever meeting that monster" She's heard the story from his crewman only a few hours ago, but something doesn't add up, this passion and desperation in his eyes and in his tone.

"Because he cut off your hand"

"Because he sent us to my brother's _death"_the anguish finally breaks through and his voice shakes and strains as he recalls a feathered sail and an island that hid lethal thorns and devious demons; breaking his vow and devoting himself to avenging the death of the only family he had left; losing his composure at the prospect of history repeating itself with her in the picture.

The weight inside her ribcage grows, taking up space in her throat and making her eyes sting without tears (thank the gods for small favours) and she winds her free arm over his shoulder, resting her cheek against his while she waits for the turmoil inside him to calm down.

"You're an idiot" (no one said this means she isn't still mad)

"What?"

Distancing their torsos so she can look into his eyes, she arches an eyebrow. "You're an idiot. You contacted me to help you find the artifacts needed to get into King George's magically protected castle and get revenge. I'm going into his fucking castle Killian, I'm getting near him anyway."

He manages to look chastised and bashful at the same time, and his fingers twitch on her hip.

"Sorry to disappoint love, but I don't think I can't follow through with our original arrangement, for reasons I have made obvious in a mostly crude way" A frown appeared in his brow "I apologize for leaving you stranded here. I didn't consider things much further than keeping you out of town"

She sighs and ponders everything he's told her. She knows the man can be impulsive and reckless (there's still a rounded bullet scar on his shoulder to remind them), but she also knows that he cares about her opinions and this is the first time he has disregarded them.

"I was sold to Regina by someone I trusted. He took me directly to an ambush. I never go - or stay - somewhere I don't want to anymore" He nods at her warning and she feels satisfied - mostly at least. "So you can make it up to me teaching me how to plan the courses"

His eyes widen ever so slightly, and she is further pleased that she can take him always by surprise. Especially when his features form that mischievous smile she has grown to associate with their banter. "Well Swan, I see you cartography lessons and raise you manning the helm lessons."

Her grin feels finally natural as she gets into his space "You drive a hard bargain Captain"

"Pirate, love" His hand and hook meet at the small of her back as his arms encircle her waist, and if either of them were to move forward, their foreheads would rest together too. She enjoys the position for a moment, soaking up in his warmth before stepping away, flashing him an impish smile and going to retrieve the atlas from his desk.

"Good. You can start now"


End file.
